


Sulfur

by Hoodedscarlet



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Multi, basically shit gets heavy in parts, mention of alcoholism, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodedscarlet/pseuds/Hoodedscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dystopian future, robotics advance to a point where they can enhance and alter the capabilities of the human body, resulting in a war that ripped apart society as we know it. Ryan is an highly renowned, yet illegal robotics mechanic and technician and his life couldn't be any more interesting. Especially when five men in particular require his services...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sulfur

Ryan’s workshop wasn’t hard to find if you asked the right people.  
Of course, it was finding the right people that was the problem; with his business being as illicit as it was it was hard to get in the know without getting strung up or ratted out. The free robotics were a secretive group, of course – when the law’s not your friend you have to find solace in other places and there’s only so many places they can’t hear you; in smoky bars with dim lighting and scantily clad woman, between supermarket aisles in the flash of an expression, in little paper notes so much less romantic then they seem.  
  
If you got in the know, perhaps you’d be lead in the right direction. Told to look for the man with madness in his smile, a restlessness in his fingers that only wires and metal could satisfy. Perhaps as you stepped over lamp posts twisted and snapped in half you would second guess yourself – wasn’t this the reason independent robotics were outlawed in the first place? Wasn’t this the reason that men like Ryan should be locked away – the chaos, the uncertainty, the uncontrolled _power_?  
  
But then you’d see the sign appear, the neon sign flickering in the dark night amongst uprooted concrete slabs and car wrecks.  
 _Cell Phone Repairs here!_ It would claim – you can hear the buzzing of the neon tubes from where you stand. You can taste the sulfur in the air, and it’s bitter on your tongue.  
  
The shop itself is cramped, soldering irons and wires and equipment you don’t even know how to begin to name covering the walls. The smell of metal is thick in the air here, mixed with a tang you can’t quite put a name to. (A second longer and you realize its blood – once again you doubt your common sense in coming here.)  
  
Then the man himself emerges from behind the desk, blue eyes shockingly pale as he greets you with a smile that lives true to his name as the ‘Mad King’ - because when it came down to it, he ruled this barren wasteland of the Old City. His words were not questioned, nor his actions and people had - and would - die for him.  
  
“How are you doing, friend?” He would say, a tone sugary sweet that wouldn’t hesitate to run down your spine like quicksilver. And there was the small talk – there was always the small talk because Ryan had to be able to pick apart a man, rat out the men (of which there were many) that would try to pick everything he had worked for apart at the seams.  
  
When you ask about the ’technical modifications’ at first, there’s not a word. A quip, a raised eyebrow as he asks why on earth would he do those? They’re illegal, and dangerous and so easy to get wrong and are you sure you aren’t getting my workshop confused with ROBEX?  
But there’s certain quality to his voice – some would say it was him being a ‘smooth bastard’ – that you can just _tell_ he’s sweet talking. Its almost discerning that a man could be so smooth with blood so thick on his hands.  
  
A pause.  
  
“You got the cash?”

You hold out the notes in a fan, green as envy and you can both smell the taint of material gain on them.  
A smirk.  
  
“Follow me.”  
  
And you would be lead behind the counter, down, down, down to the basement that sprawled out like a mighty beast and by God if you couldn’t name all the equipment upstairs you had no chance down here. The taste of blood is cloying in your throat; Ryan moves with a strut to his step.  
“What are you thinking?”  
  
And laid out before you was the machinery you’ve only heard about; strength enhancing bone graphs, sonar implants, echolocation devices. And brain implants – so many brain implants; increased memory capacity, better recall, reflex enhancers, dopamine releasers. The mind boggled just looking at them and you could feel Ryan smile from behind you.  
  
“What will it be?”  
  
-x-  
  
There had to be something better than this.  
  
Ray had always been rather competitive – always wanted to be just a bit better than those around him, a bit smarter, a bit stronger. Where he really excelled though was speed; he was a rabbit on the track with legs that carried him like the wind, reflexes like a cat that meant he was prepared for practically anything.  
  
He was pretty sheltered from the War when it happened – the events confined to gruesome pictures plastered on the news and whispers of who was under fire, whose fault it was. The media didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation, having glorified the implants only months before the uprising. Or rather, the end of the media who had to address how hypocritical they were being – the headlines were still covered with ‘FIVE SOILDERS DEAD AFTER VICIOUS ATTACK’ and ‘IS THERE NO CURE FOR THE DISEASED?’  
  
Diseased. Ray had never quite understood why they called them Diseased. Because wasn’t it their choice to get the implants in the first place? Weren’t they all completely aware of what they were doing? It wasn’t alien blood that pumped in their veins. Honestly, if he’d had the time and the money he would have gotten some himself before they’d all become illegal – he wouldn’t mind being able to see through walls or shoot lasers from his eyes. But for now he had to focus on his sport, his reflexes. He was wasting valuable time to get better, after all.  
  
Ray had once heard of a time where running wasn’t duped. That it was a clean race, start to finish – no drugs, no outside help, no ‘accidental’ tripping or elbows. Honestly, the way it was now was the way he preferred it; quick and dirty, each man using whatever he could get his hands on to win the race. Ray tended to rely on pure speed alone (he was a gentleman after all) but nothing sent a thrill through him more than when he avoided a jab or skidded in front of an opponent at the very last second just as they were about to win. Plus, the cash was a good lure as well – nothing paid out quite like the betting on the race tracks. There were silent agreements with those in on the know to not attack the athletes post-race but Ray still had a few choice scars from where even the few rules they did have out here were violated.  
  
The first time that Caleb had won the race, Ray knew something was up.  
While he was a competent runner, one might even consider them friends outside the race course, there was no way in hell that the man had been able to get up to his speed, _past_ his speed in only two god damn weeks. Thankfully, the man wasn’t well known for keeping his mouth shut; a little bit of charm on Ray’s part and Caleb opened right up. ROBEX was to thank, apparently. The new multimillion company launching, boasting the only government approved implants on the market. Considering there were literally no other options anymore with the sparkers gone, people were simply flocking to the new establishment – and as Caleb had certainly just demonstrated, they delivered.  
  
Clearly Ray had some research to do, and with that he honed on ROBEX. Collecting pamphlets, talking to off duty doctors, pulling the strings he had (because to get anywhere in this society anymore you had to know people and Ray knew how to charm a man when he needed to). A robotics company funded by the government sounded just peachy on the surface… Not so much when you got into the thick of it.  
They had existed before the War, a small company that had gained a reputation for doing a really shitty job of attaching implants; it wasn’t unheard of to hear of the implants short circuiting or blowing a fuse while still inside people, leaving them with devastating injuries that resulted in a lot of money getting passed under the table to avoid word getting out.  
  
But the owner of the company was a sweet talker, with a tongue that crooned sugar and it wasn’t surprising to anybody that he made his way into the President’s good books. With the War came a refinement in his methods, sure, but under it there was still a slimy business man that wanted nothing more than people’s money. Not to mention that there were some hilariously stupid regulations on the implants themselves – the most ‘extreme’ ones didn’t even push the human body to a quarter of its potential.  
Clearly, Ray could do better.  
  
He’d heard the whispers while he had been asking about ROBEX – sparkers that had survived the onslaught, that practiced where the air was still thick with sulfur and the smoke still settling. If you had the cash they’d welcome you with smile, if you were loyal you might survive the operation.  
  
Ryan. Nobody knew his last name; honestly Ray had only heard him referred to as Ryan once or twice. The ‘Mad King’, on the other hand. Well. That was a name that struck fear into people’s heart. Because if the sparkers were the gods, the Mad King was their Creator; his contraptions were a work of art before they even blessed flesh.  
And Ray? Ray wasn’t one to accept second best.  
  
Ryan had the professional air of a man who knew what he had to lose; they talked out prices in the small shop front with gas masks hanging around their necks and cheerful banter on their lips which continued long after the agreement was made. Because well, Ray wasn’t one for love at first sight but there was certainly some sort of… _connection_ between the two of them. The money was passed over, he went under, and by God he could feel as soon as he woke up that he had certainly gotten what he paid for.  
  
Ryan had been quick to inform him of the safety warnings; that he needed to rest to make sure the body didn’t reject the new implants, to clean the stitches carefully until they fell away. He had added with a smirk that these weren’t even complex robotics and he was going to beat this Caleb guy in a breeze.  
A beat of silence.  
“How much for the extreme ones then?”  
  
“Oh, it’s not a case of how much money it costs.” Ryan said, leaning across his desk. “Its experimental, dangerous. I put those things in you and I might crush your bones or split your muscles. Last thing I need is that on my record.”  
  
“…How long until I can try anyway?”  
  
Ryan smiled, a broad knowing smile, and Ray knew this wasn’t the last time he was walking into this workshop.  
  
-x-  
  
Michael was sick of being the weak one.  
It didn’t matter where he went, he would always be the one thrown up against the wall, screaming as he was punched, kicked, stabbed, burned. His body was a patchwork of scars, and each day at school was a battleground as he dived from cover to cover. Hoping he could make it to the next class before some fucking asshole shoved him up against a wall, emptying his pockets and ramping up his anger. He’d missed far too many classes because of that – his grades were weak despite his best efforts to study and only getting more so.  
Why _wouldn’t_ he be angry after that?  
Especially since apparently he was too ‘unstable’ a patient for ROBEX to considering putting even the most mild of robotic implants into.  
  
‘Unstable’ was a hilarious word for them to use too – because while his hands shook from an anger that never quite went away anymore wasn’t it ROBEX that cleared his psychotic maths teacher for a heat vision eye implant to detect late students to lectures? The teacher that had used it to stare at students in the women’s bathroom and who had only been caught in the act when the principal had caught him at the right time? How the hell was he more unstable than that sick pervert?  
  
But as he sat in the alleyways with his friends, passing around the powder that made their worries into a whisper they spoke of places that would give you your heart’s desire. Who could make you powerful, who could make you stronger, faster, _better_ than any mutt the War had ever seen. They talked of the sparkers that had survived the extermination, who worked in secret, their work even more powerful than before.  
To say that Michael was captivated was an understatement.  
  
The bars welcomed Michael with open arms; a man unafraid to speak his own mind, yet able to croon it so smoothly that anybody would be inclined to agree. He had the baby face and the etiquette and even the harder hearted of the sparker supporters melted under Michael’s story. Because he wasn’t lying – he didn’t want to restart the revolution, he didn’t want to control the world with just a finger. He just wanted to be safe so he could get a fucking _education_ without worrying about hospital fees. __  
  
Ryan came to him before anybody could even direct him, introduced himself with a smile on his face as he brought the young man a drink that was perhaps a bit too strong for him despite how well he could hold his alcohol.  
He knew what it was like to be young and weak – that had been him before the revolution. Before he had first learnt the joys of having metal singing between his fingers, before sparks had yet to kiss his skin, before the ‘Mad King’ ruled the streets of the Old City and he spun his stories in a way that had Michael captivated.  
  
Michael had said yes to Ryan before he had even asked the question.  
  
The next week had been spent preparing in Ryan’s workshop, allowing the last of the bruises from his perpetrators to fade, for him to be well rested so his new implants weren’t rejected. But to Michael it seemed as if he’d entered a whole new sector of hell – because while he was away from the men that saw him as nothing more than a play toy he hadn’t counted on Ryan being so fucking _attractive_. Didn’t count on his muscles flexing so tantalizingly as he worked, a laugh that sent shivers down Michael’s spine and it didn’t help that it seemed that Ryan knew _exactly_ how he affected Michael and was very much using that to his advantage. Fingers would skim across his legs, down his back and that god damn smirk was sending blood south far too often.  
  
When he had finally waked with newfound strength coursing through his body, he only had one person in mind. One person who had been his constant torment. With a growl that was near animalistic pinned Ryan up against the wall of the workshop, desperate mouths collided as hands too curious for their own good crept across each other’s bodies. Michael had it bad, so bad for Ryan. He’d had it for the past week, he’d had it ever since he’d laid eyes on the attractive son of a bitch and as the redhead slid onto his knees the older man could do nothing but groan. Fingers tightened in Michael’s hair as the younger man’s mouth sunk down onto Ryan’s cock.  
  
The sex was a delirious haze every time it happened (because that was most certainly not the last time it did) and even as Michael returned to university and dealt with the bullies his heart never really left the workshop. Or perhaps it was his libido – he never was quite sure. Either way, slowly, he stopped leaving. Stopped attending school, started helping out more around the workshop. Slowly the payments from Ryan stopped coming too, replaced by sex from every angle, on every surface and perhaps he’d turned into Ryan’s boy toy but he could walk away from this anytime he wanted and knowing he had that power just made it all okay.  
  
When it came down to it as well Michael _loved_ the workshop. Loved the hum of the machines and the smell of metal burning and melting and slowly Ryan started opening up. Slowly showed him how to wire, how to solder – in two months he could repair a cell phone in a few minutes and the proud look in Ryan’s face when he had seen made Michael’s heart flutter. He’d never meant for this to happen – but really? He didn’t care.  
  
He was happy – and that was the first time he could truly say that in a long time.  
  
-x-  
  
Jack had never wanted to come here.  
  
He was what some had referred to as a purist; even as the first 100% safe robotic implants came onto the market prior to the War he had been apprehensive. Why would he want to alter what he had? Why would he want to taint his body with wire, metal, things that could kill him from the inside out? They said each implant had been tested, that it was no different to getting a pacemaker or a hip implant but Jack just couldn’t take what they said to hear.  
And the majority of the population agreed – at first.  
Then people were regaining their legs and arms, people wearing glasses could see 20/20, illnesses were being cured with mechanical help and by god it was like a miracle.  
  
But then the independence came.  
People branching off, making _new_ appliances. Sparkers, they called themselves, because sparkies were the ones that fixed and installed but _they_ were ones that pushed the limits. Because what person wanted to be ordinary when they could be extraordinary? What person wanted to be boring when they could fly? Shoot lasers from their eyes? Snap a car in half?  
And all those things? That’s exactly what they did.  
  
The world fell into near anarchy for a few terrifying years as people defied the laws that the government could no longer enforce – buildings crumbled, people _died_ and still the businesses worked on, pumping out more and more appliances and it felt like if you didn’t power up you’d get powered off as the city crumbled under the burden of men that had been corrupted by the power running in their veins.  
  
But somehow, _somehow_ and Jack didn’t know how, they managed to get the implants under control. The soldiers had found their weak point, had found out how to fight back and it _worked._ The main sparkers of the movement were taken behind the bike shed and society rebuilt on one main robotics company – ROBEX, the one that could power down any of their appliances that was causing a bit too much trouble, with limitations that could keep the Average Joe from feeling threatened and yet still get that rush of power.  
Jack had gone along with that ruling – it had made sense of course considering that absolute mess that the world had turned into. Robotics had been trouble from the start after all.  
  
Then his heart had started to fail.  
He was young, only 32 and suddenly he was out of hospital more than in with a heart that fluttered so soft and frail and why the fuck could nobody work out what was wrong with him? All the new technology, the scans and poking and medication and still it didn’t work. He had spent way too many sleepless nights with his head against the wall, fists beating against the plaster as angry tears streamed down his face. And all the while his heart fluttered pathetically in his chest like a butterfly and if he hadn’t been half driven mad he would’ve ripped the fucking thing straight out of his chest.  
Of course he’d looked at robotics, he’d only been able to hold out so long against that with a body that collapsed just walking down the street. But without a diagnosis they weren’t going to do anything – it was against protocol they said, even when Jack pulled the few strings he had in the industry.

Desperation drove a man to do desperate things, and with death breathing down his neck far too close for comfort he started staying later in the bars, listening with a dipped gaze to conversations held in hushed tones. Confirmed his suspicions that the sparkers of the revolution weren’t gone, just… Picky. Choosing their subjects so carefully, making sure not to leave a trace to their less than legal occupations because one wrong word, one wrong step and everything the few remaining sparkers had worked for would fall in on their heads.  
  
There was no small talk for Jack when he reached the Mad King’s operations.  
Honestly, he was surprised that Ryan cared so much; he took one look at him and led him down, pulled out a small contraption made of wire and steel that made his body shake as he panic rose in his throat. But Jack needed this, he needed a normal life, he didn’t want to _die_ and this was his last option and he stuttered out his agreement before Ryan had even finished his sentence.  
  
Then there was a hand on his shoulder.  
Pale eyes looked at him calmly, understandingly, told him that he could stay as long as he wanted until he was ready to go under. He had to do alterations on the implant anyway, and he had perfectly fine rooms that Jack could stay in. And it was against his better judgement but Jack accepted anyway - he couldn’t travel back home in this state anyway.  
  
But the days past and as Jack rested he had nothing better to do but watch Ryan work. Watch him work the metal like it was dough, wires bending to his command and suddenly Jack understood why Ryan didn’t want to do this to him straight away. He didn’t know, he didn’t _know_ the passion the man had for his job. Didn’t know that it truly wasn’t about the money – he charged what he did because he didn’t want his work to be underappreciated, didn’t want to spoil the reputation he had scraped up for himself.  
  
When Jack finally went under, it was with a smile on his lip, that he could finally be complete, that he could become _art –_ and when he woke up with a heart once again beating strong in his chest he knew he never wanted to leave the place that had made him whole again.  
  
-x-  
  
Sometimes, some people were more equal than others.  
  
A war is not won without soldiers, and when the call to arms had run out Geoff had taken his place. Armed himself with steel of all sorts to fight an enemy that they could hardly hope to beat, Geoff watched as the city he had grown to love was disfigured before his eyes. Holes bored into skyscrapers to leave them punctured like swiss cheese, power lines ripped apart and left dangling. A storefront’s sign would become his cover, a supermarket aisle his retreat as panicked blue eyes scanned for the enemy. A man with a swagger to his step, a woman who looked just a bit too out of place. Because if those cyborgs came within five feet of him? He could just as well kiss his sorry ass goodbye – he knew too many of his comrades had.  
  
But the problem was that these warriors didn’t fight in armour, they didn’t fight with weapons that could be disarmed. They were just normal people – well, were. Twisted by the power that now thrummed in their veins so many times Geoff had though a man was just a survivor of the devastation, only for them to turn around and for Geoff to see the mad look in their eyes, had to reach for his gun and shoot them between the eyes before he could become another play thing.  
  
Too soon they realized this was a war where they had to fight fire with fire – had to know the enemy to beat the enemy and they hadn’t even questioned it when the first of them started getting the implants because what better way to know them than to become them? They’d only been small ‘alterations’ of course, to get the reflexes and the good sight and perhaps Geoff hadn’t questioned it nearly as much as he should’ve when he went under the knife but why would he?  
They were winning.  
They were finally _winning._  
  
The tides had turned, the sparker’s resistance was falling apart and they were pushing forward, reclaiming the wasteland of a city that Geoff used to call home. His new eye let him see them shifting behind walls, let him put a bullet in those motherfucker’s head before they could even get close to him and his comrades.  
Of course, that was when disaster struck.  
A moment. A moment was all it took and suddenly searing white engulfed him, surrounded him, and he would’ve screamed if it didn’t feel like his lungs were burning up in his chest, if he didn’t feel like clawing his eyes right out of their sockets as an unknown enemy laughed over him. He lay on the ground, ears ringing as he watched with an detached fascination as red seeped from his body, the enemy that had claimed him falling behind him and Geoff could only think that justice had been served before darkness claimed him.  
  
When he next came to, he was in a hospital bed, drips running into his arm and his body bathed in a pain that made him want to slip right back into unconsciousness. That ache was further fuelled by watching his surroundings; men and women slumped in their beds, eyes dim as they nursed their injuries, mourned lost limbs or just… Gave up. They had a glassy look in their eye that looked as if they’d prefer if a gun was just put to their head and their misery ended right now.  
He went to move the hair out of his face, but he couldn’t move his right arm with all the drips in it and his left arm felt dead. Why-  
It took Geoff a moment to realize why he could no longer move his left arm, and his world came crashing down around him as he took in the stump, bandages wrapped tightly around it.  
  
He wasn’t on the battle field when the final enemy made his dying cry, too lost in his drunken stupor to even pay attention to the various TV screens. His life had been reduced to seeing himself through to the bottom of the next bottle, his head buzzing too pleasantly to entertain the darker thoughts that lurked far too close for his liking.  
Because with the sparkers gone, what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t live his life like this, a cripple, a _freak_ and all forms of robotics had been outlawed post War. Even the earlier, clunkier implants had to be better than this. Better than the phantom pains that ran the length of his body only silenced by his drug of choice, better than the stares; better that his mind churning too fast, too fast.  
  
When ROBEX came into power, hope became his drug of choice. He tidied up his body, his clothes; his apartment looked the neatest it ever had as its owner pieced himself together for the appointment that would finally make him whole, bring him together.  
Of course, the war would come back to haunt him again.  
His eye, his fucking eye, and he wanted to rip it out of his socket when they told him it was the reason they couldn’t operate on him. Because of a stupid dumb mistake, a stupid dumb mistake that had themall _standing_ there today. But he couldn’t be trusted with that thing in his eye, one of them he could whisper in the hallways where they thought he couldn’t heard and he felt like throwing something against a wall. He wasn’t one of them, he was never one of _them_ and anger and desperation made his body try to turn itself inside out as it collapsed, as _he_ collapsed.  
  
It was so long, too long until he heard of the sparkers again.  
As his money dwindled the bars he attended got worse and worse, until he could feel the grime on his skin when he sat down. But he’d be lying if he didn’t miss the near normal interaction he’d have with people because in the dark of the bar how many noticed how his left arm of his jacket hung just a little too limp by his side? The smile he wore just painted on?  
The stories drew him in like a moth to flame; the smiles as he scooted in just a bit too close to be merely an accident were ones of understanding. Slowly, night after night, he returned to meet with the men, discuss the illegal as if the smoke that whispered around them would capture the words from his lips and keep them hidden.  
  
Ryan’s work had captivated him from the start; the stories of a man who worked metal like an extension of himself, who had claimed back the land made forbidden and made it his own, ruled over its inhabitants with a smile that hid a secret power.  
Slowly Geoff scrapped together the money; cut back on the drink that had both saved and screwed over his life as he hesitantly allowed hope to shine through again. So many times too, he looked at the ever increasing value in his bank account and wondered – was his for real? Sometimes things were illegal for a reason.  
  
But as he once more ventured into the shifted landscape of the Old City, gunfire ringing silently in his ears he could only feel his resolve become just that much more clear. He had been in a slump for too long, let go and by god he was going to get up on his feet again. Which was somewhat literal in the surrounding – climbs took excruciating minutes when back a few years they would have taken seconds, a fall would more often than not leave him sprawled across the ground. Why he hadn’t been prayed on by God knows who lived around here was still a mystery to him, especially as he could feel the prickle on the back of his neck that told him he wasn’t alone.  
  
Then he saw the place rise out of the ground, a beacon of light as the last of the sun’s rays painted the ground red and gold. And perhaps it looked so bizarrely out of place but by god if it didn’t make Geoff’s heart sing to know that at least there was a part of the stories that was true.  
  
Ryan was everything and more of the legend that preceded him – and as they exchanged pleasantries Geoff could see his stark blue eyes flicker down to the stump of his arm, the skin warped awkwardly over the stump that was no longer hid by clothing.  
It was as if asking whether it was the reason Geoff came to him was another pleasantry in itself, as they made their way down the winding stairs that lead to Ryan’s sprawling basement. Plenty of times Geoff had been told the workshop itself was beyond explanation, a see it to believe sort of experience but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer size of the basement. It had to be the size of a plane bunker, at least, metal of all shapes and sizes scattered about the room; he could see the wrecked hulls of old cars piled up one end, sheets of metal leaned against another wall.  
  
“Good connections,” he explained, picking up a scrap of one of the metal sheets up off a work bench and twirling it between his fingers; it caught and shone the light artistic. “Have to have them when you’re working in my business.”  
A week. A week was all it was going to take for Ryan to build him his new arm and with each day passed Geoff could feel the happiness bloom in his chest. It certainly didn’t help that Ryan was surprisingly good company; so many people had described him as a stoic character with a mouth like wire but how was that the man in front of him? The one with the charming smile and the full laugh, that made the loneliness that had plagued him for too long seem like a distant memory?  
  
Many a times Geoff found himself perched on a spare stool, watching as Ryan made wire and electricity dance under his fingers and how did he not have any implants or modifications himself? It didn’t make sense, but when he asked Ryan had only given him a knowing smile – whether the fact was too obvious or not obvious enough was another question entirely as Ryan replied that as a man who so badly needed his body to work who could he trust with the most valuable thing he had? Geoff already had all the experience he needed to answer that question.  
  
When Geoff woke up and finally looked across to see another arm, nobody could blame him for breaking down into tears.  
  
-x-  
  
Gavin was only a kid, really.  
The age of robotics, they’d heralded it as, the time when any man could come forward and become something extraordinary. Reported on as much as celebrities in the movies , it wasn’t long before anybody could pop down to their local clinic to get something or another. Gavin was part of that crowd too – really the few that weren’t were looked at with turned up noses and judging looks. Soon he had his own, jets in the soles of his feet so he could fly and a small computer like system hooked up to his eye and quite honestly it was one of the most ‘bloody awesome’ thing he’d ever done.  
  
Late at night he poured over the magazines, awestruck at the metallic contraptions that the most skilled of sparkers could create – medusa like hair that moved like it was alive, extra limbs that bent every which way and the _wings._ God, the wings were beautiful, feathers of steel that spread so gorgeously and while Gavin would never want to own a pair himself it didn’t stop him watching them with revered awe.  
  
The uprising didn’t come quite as quickly as people made out – there was a murmur, an unsettled hum of energy that had people running back to the clinics, removing the implants and too many horror stories emerged because they were supposed to be removable, supposed to be a clip in and clip out but the gruesome scars were telling stories that the companies couldn’t cover up.  
The first attacks drove Gavin and his family out of his home, the second separated them as he lurched up to see them disappear into the billowing concrete dust. Even with the jets he couldn’t catch up – but how can you catch up when you don’t even know the way?  
  
He couldn’t follow them anyway; the survivors’ prejudice far too strong because what if it was only a ruse? What if Gavin just wanted to get at them from the inside? Because he didn’t, he honestly didn’t. But he knew nobody would believe him, _could_ believe him and so he ran and ran with the wind at his back and a rabbit’s heart in his chest beating, beating with a heartbeat that beat so fast, making his head pound. Even with the gas mask over his face the sulfur still hung over him – the blisters on his body never quite seemed to heal anymore.  
  
His parents were gone, his friends were gone and the only solace he could find were in store where he could shut the door and for just a few moments, amongst the broken merchandise and too cold walls pretend everything was okay. Close his eyes and block out the gunfire and screams and try and take in the familiar smells, play back memories worn at the edges from use.  
  
He’d never expected to meet Ryan.  
Ryan, with his sandy blonde hair, picking through the rubble with a honed determination. Ryan, with the calm eyes that made Gavin think perhaps this guy wasn’t a mad man and the smile that made him second guess. He found him like that, curled against a wall with goggles tight against his face and a plea on his lips. He’d nearly jumped ten feet when Ryan had spoken; only seeing the tall dark figure all swathed in black and mind already racing to conclusions. But a soldier wouldn’t offer a hand, wouldn’t hold onto him as he readjusted to the ache in his leg and invite him for a walk. And Gavin? He couldn’t refuse a bit of company.  
  
A sparker, Ryan had said with a smile as they walked together, the thick coats that Ryan wore concealing his frame – Gavin felt like he was walking with an angel of Death and perhaps he was.  
“Freshly trained, technically.” Ryan continued said, spinning a salvaged rod around his hand with a practiced ease. “I mean, I’ve been doing contracted and my own work on the side but I only got my qualifications three, six months ago?” He barked out a laugh; it echoed against the buildings that towered like giants around them; god it was quiet here now. “Not that it means much now.”

Gavin never quite knew what Ryan saw in him - a runt too skinny for his own good with hair as wild looking as his eyes, with an ache in his head and his heart that never quite seemed to leave. But he saw something and what man could resist Ryan’s charms?  
In the dark of the night he confided in Gavin, eyes twinkling in a way that made the stars look dim. Because Ryan, well, he wanted to be remembered. He wanted to make, create, he wanted to bring people to tears with his work and a global company would never be able to put the care into their work he could. They could never create like he could.  
  
The bunker was Gavin’s idea. He’d found it in his travels, trying to find a safe place to call home (which was a joke in itself because really, where was ‘safe’ in this city now, let alone a home?) but it had felt so big, too big.  
Not to Ryan.  
Perhaps it was because the man had the determination of a mad man, or perhaps it was his presence made any room seem small but Ryan had the bunker cleared up in under a week, old desks from the many abandoned office buildings becoming his work tables, tapping into the electrical lines that still crackled with energy beneath the city to power the room. It was equal parts exciting and simply terrifying how resourceful he was and Gavin watched with a rampant awe, drawn in.

He didn’t realize his implants were malfunctioning at first; thought the ache in his soles was from walking too much and not the jets breaking apart in his feet, thought the pounding in his head was just a migraine from the gas rather than what he hadn’t considered even a faint reality. Because the fact of the matter was they weren’t meant to be used this much, weren’t supposed be used that much and the stress of the years of constant use was breaking them, breaking _him._  
  
Ryan never forgave himself for not seeing the signs earlier. Gavin rubbing his temples, Gavin resting his feet whenever he could, the painkillers, the early nights, all of it. He could have prevented this; the yell of pain that set the older man running, bursting into the room to see Gavin twisted on the concrete in a cold sweat with his hands clenching and unclenching stiffly, his breathing too fast, too fast. His agonized screams as electricity rocked his system made something cold slam into Ryan’s spine. They’d been warned so often of the dangers of cheap implants, how likely and destructively they could fail – why hadn’t he checked Gavin’s?  
  
He could see the limp relief go through Gavin system as the older man knocked him out; he was a ragdoll that felt too light as Ryan picked him up in his arms, cradled him against his chest and he wasn’t sure who’s heart was beating faster anymore.  
  
He worked for hours.  
Gavin laid on Ryan’s operating table, breathing a bit too deep to be sleep as Ryan hunched himself over the mauled jets in the Brit’s feet. The metal was warped beyond all recognition, the inner electronics half melted and no _wonder_ Gavin was getting shocked because there wasn’t even a short circuit preventer in this god damn thing! Not to even start at how clumsily the jets had been embedded into Gavin’s nervous system, clumps of soldering metal that fused muscle with metal still too thick even after all these years that should have worn a better job down. By god, if Ryan could clock the man that had implanted this he would.  
  
Gavin’s feet though were saveable; Gavin’s eye wasn’t.  
He could see the signs as soon as he moved to work on it; the glaze, the lack of dilation in the pupil when he shone his flashlight over it. The soldering here was even messier; honestly Ryan was surprised it hadn’t malfunctioned sooner – no, was _glad_ it hadn’t malfunctioned sooner. The thought of Gavin, scared and alone as the electricity ripped through his body and his screams going unheard was too much for Ryan to handle because fuck, the British man meant too much to him to imagine such a cruel fate. Already, Gavin’s agonized face felt like it was tattooed to back of his eyelids. He spent the next God knows how long slowly cleaning out the cavity, leaving the actual removal of Gavin’s eye until last. (Perhaps if he delayed it, he’d see a way to fix this, a way to save it.)  
  
When Gavin finally woke, it was to an ache in his feet and a pounding to his head – but he was alive. That was a new one. (In the moments leading up to Ryan finding him, being alive at the end of the ordeal was certainly not feeling like a realistic option.) But Ryan didn’t chide him as the older man straddled the back of a chair facing him, told the Brit what had happened with a husky voice and bloodshot eyes.  
“You’re completely clean now.” Ryan said, the sleep deprivation making the edges of his words thick and clumsy despite his best efforts. “You can either stay that way, or I can attach some of my own implants.” He worried at his lower lip. “I’ll have to do some more work on your feet either way since the implants down there were basically supporting your whole foot, but the choice is yours.”  
  
Gavin thought he’d retaliate just at the question; he’d been almost electrocuted to _death_ , he’d been mere seconds away from some serious brain damage because of those god damn implants.  
But this was _Ryan._ Ryan, with the calm eyes and mad smile, Ryan who had robotics drilled into his very being. Gavin trusted the older man, trusted him with everything he had and if he hadn’t trusted him before the man had bloody well just saved his life. There was something to be said about that.  
  
Once Ryan had rested Gavin once again went under. But this time he went under with the confidence he would once again wake up – and when he did, better and stronger than ever before he knew he’d made the right choice in the end.  
  
-x-  
  
Ryan was a robotics technician.  
  
‘Was’ was probably the key word in the sentence in a way – to the average person he would surely not identify like that. A wanderer, yes. A dreamer, perhaps. But considering the very nature of his job had caused war like no other he’d be a fool to state his occupation so willy-nilly.  
Then again, it wasn’t even his name attached to his legend. The ‘Mad King’ was a far more prevalent name and for good reason – his palms were smeared in red with trails running down his forearms and sometimes people forgot under the implants that the Diseased were oh so very human. Oh so very human, and oh so very breakable, and Ryan had no problem unloading a round into any man or woman that stood in his way.  
  
It had gained him friends as well as enemies; one that sprung to mind was a young steelworker called Lindsay was quick to thank him after a Diseased had cornered her with wild eyes and fingers that were getting far too close for comfort. It wasn’t long before arrangements were made between them, steel sheets and other various metallic goods being exchanged for thick stacks of cash. He hadn’t even needed to prompt the young woman – then again, she had wit sharp enough to kill a man and had taken a liking to him from the beginning. He had too, if he was to be honest with himself.  
  
Life, while not easy, was good.  
Then those men came into his life and turned it upside down.  
  
He thought Gavin was a handful but he hadn’t counted on Michael’s charm, Ray’s wit, Geoff’s resilience (however hard he tried to deny it) and Jack’s lion heart. Hadn’t counted on the way that his heart would start into double speed at the very thought of them, how his breath would catch in his throat and he’d had crushes in the past sure but this was something a lot bigger – literally.  
But what the Mad King wanted, the Mad King got.  
  
And oh, how he so wanted his boys to be _his._  


**Author's Note:**

> This could either end up being two or three chapters, so be aware it could go either way. Keep your eyes peeled!


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